Thieves of the Black Sea. Joe O'Neill
shook her head in frustration.
“Really, that’s what you’re asking me right now? After I risked my life to save you, and we’re stuck nowhere, and we have no food or water?”
“Um, yeah, I guess,” Inez squeamishly answered.
“There was a bucket, okay?” Margaret tersely answered.
“Any paper?” Inez questioned.
“Oh my goodness, be quiet!” Margaret admonished and Inez knew better than to ask any further questions.
Both girls curled together. The shock in their bodies subsided and gave way to exhaustion. Soon, they drifted into a fitful sleep.
“Inez, wake up!” Margaret said.
Inez slowly opened her eyes. Margaret was kneeling and looking into the shelter from outside. It was now daylight, but just barely, and the chirping of many varieties of birds could be heard all around them.
Inez was notoriously crabby in the morning, and at school, the girls avoided waking her at all costs. Once awake, she was the most courageous of all of them, but early in the morning, she had the sensibilities of a two-year-old baby.
Stretching her arms, she brought her torso up and yawned.
“I’m stiff and sore and hungry,” she complained.
“So am I. Let’s get a move on.”
“Do we have to? I want to sleep for a few more minutes,” Inez pouted and turned over.
“Inez, we don’t have time for that, we have to move!”
Inez sat up, folded her arms, and stared crossly at Margaret.
“Fine!”
Trying to ignore her, Margaret walked over to the stream, put a bit of water in a large leaf, and then produced a pin from her hair. She rubbed the pin a few times on her clothes to charge the pin. She then broke off a blade of grass and floated a small, wide piece in the leaf and carefully placed the hairpin on the floating grass. Slowly it spun around until it stopped.
“This is a trick my dad taught me. Float a small piece of metal in a leaf with water and it should point to magnetic north. With sunrise on one side, we can determine which end of the hairpin is north. We know we want to head south, so—that way,” she said, pointing.
Inez stared at the hairpin in the water.
“Are you sure that thing works?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Of course it works, now let’s get a move on.”
Inez stood up and soon the two girls were tramping through the forest. Margaret winced in pain from her ankle, but it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t walk. They had found a long stick for Margaret to use as a cane, which helped. Twigs snapped under their feet and mud caked to their shoes. They walked for two hours until the morning was bright and the sun was in full view.
“If we are in Germany, it means they may have taken us through Italy and through Switzerland. No, that doesn’t make any sense, because I don’t remember going through a mountain pass. They would have taken us north through France and then headed directly east. I would imagine it would be southern Germany and the Alps would be just below us. I think those are the mountains we’ve been staring at.”
Inez gazed at the mountain range in front of them.
“The Alps?”
“I’ve visited them several times on skiing vacations. They’re very beautiful,” Margaret explained.
“So how do we get out of here?”
“I’m not sure. But we need to stay away from the main roads and towns. No doubt the Germans will be looking for us.”
“How will we eat?”
“Inez, I don’t know. We’ll figure something out, just keep walking.”
The girls continued on, at one point finding another stream, where they washed their hands and faces and cooled themselves off. Walking up a hill, Margaret thought she heard something on the other side. As they drew closer to the crest of the hill, the noise became louder. It sounded like a hammer hitting a nail.
“Get down Inez, let’s see what’s over that hill.”
The two girls crouched down, stayed hidden behind trees, and then continued their walk to the top. The forest was dense so it was easy to hide.
Over the hill, the girls came upon a scene that both amazed and surprised them.
Approximately a quarter-mile down, they could see a makeshift camp. It looked to be about two hundred yards square. Barbed wire surrounded the outskirts of the camp, and a guard tower was at each corner. To the right were a series of large canvas tents, about twenty in all. The camp was a buzz of activity, but it was difficult to see who occupied it from such a distance.
“What is this?” Inez asked.
“I don’t know, maybe some kind of army camp? I think those are all soldiers,” Margaret answered.
Suddenly, as they were peering down at the camp, both girls were grabbed from behind. Strong hands dug into their triceps and pinched their skin. Then they heard shouting in German.
They were staring at a couple of German soldiers dressed in black uniforms.
“Was is das?”
“Was is die?”
Inez and Margaret felt the gruff hands on them. The two young soldiers continued to question them in German. After a few moments, four more soldiers joined them.
“I don’t speak German,” Margaret in both English and French.
“Was?” one of them answered, an older and squalid man who was obviously the one in authority.
He motioned for the others and soon Inez and Margaret were being led down the hill to the camp. As they approached, the barbed wire around the fence now looked ominous. Margaret spotted people dressed in rags who looked at them as they were marched down the hill by the group of soldiers. Coming closer, Margaret could see that some of the people were in chains and were being forced to work, overseen by German soldiers. Many people emerged from their tents to stare at the girls. They looked malnourished and Margaret could clearly see the despair on their faces.
“Margaret, this isn’t a camp…it’s a prison!” Inez whispered.
Foster Crowe arrived in Bremen on an early morning train. The ride had been comfortable, and he had managed to get some much-needed sleep after the rigorous sea journey. The aroma of a bakery filled the air as Foster stepped out of the train station. He followed the delicious smell to a door in an alleyway. It was a small bakery with just one table. Although it was early, the baker had already been up for four hours and was just now taking pans of pastries from his wood-fired oven. Foster negotiated for a Berliner, a type of doughnut without the hole, filled with fresh raspberry filling. The baker poured Foster a cup of strong coffee as they spoke to one another in German.
Looking out onto the Bremen city streets, he was reminded of his childhood in Belgium.
In the early morning, Bremen was chilly and gray and a fog held steady on the cobblestone streets. Foster was in some kind of city square. A large fountain with the statue of a robed man, most likely a saint, with tiny angels surrounding him anchored the center of the square. Spouting water shot up from the basin of the fountain. On one end of the square was a Gothic cathedral with long and narrow stained-glass windows and a stone griffin—a mythical lion and eagle hybrid—on the roof, acting as a guardian of the supposed gold and riches hidden inside the cathedral. Statues of saints were sculpted into the facade just above the massive wooden door that acted as an entrance.
Foster